


The Call

by Rezzo



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Adventure, Crimson Revelation, Frustration, Redemption, Scarlet Crusade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:07:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26642707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rezzo/pseuds/Rezzo
Summary: Life for Inquisitor Jayra Ebonlocke before she stepped towards the path of Redemption.





	The Call

**The Call**

_Chirp, chirp, chirp._

Slowly, she was brought out of her sleep by the senseless cavorting and chirping of the birds that dwelled outside her window. The noises were faint, muted, yet still they penetrated her slumber, bringing her to the beginning of another day. The dull grey-blue light of the morning was filling her room, and she only grew more aware of it as she slowly opened her eyes, sighing as she realized it was just before dawn. The same time she rose every single day.

She struggled to find the strength to leave her bed, especially when she knew exactly how her day would go, from start to finish, everything mapped out, planned and calculated. Finally, her eyes opened to the dreary insides of her room, the stone floors dirty with small, gray pebbles, single strands of hay in between the stones, settled against the mortar. It wouldn’t be long before someone would come looking for her if she wasn’t ready though.

The birds continued their pointless chatter as she opened her wardrobe, rows of white blouses, followed by the same number of blue wool skirts, the splash of red in the back of her wardrobe went ignored as she pulled out the same outfit she wore every single day. The sun shining through her window exposed the lack of beauty within her wardrobe, the garments within made for the practical daily duties of a farm. Dressing quickly she finished the look with a pair of white stockings and simple brown shoes, it was all incredibly tedious.

She left her ebony colored locks to flow freely around her face and neck, moving towards the exit she knocked the door into a waiting hand, knuckles raised and ready to tap against her door. A pair of icy eyes looked back at her, her brother Callind, standing in the doorway. Just a little taller than she was, he had the same ebony colored hair and ivory skin, they were usually mistaken for twins.

“Good morning Jay!” Callind greeted, his voice cheery, but the cheer did little to reach the irritated depths of his sister’s attitude. She gave him a small, tense smile, returning his greeting.

“Good morning.” She replied as she followed behind him. The house was small, it was a short trip through a hallway and into the kitchen, where food had already been prepared. Breakfast was a short affair, nothing of true delight, no warm biscuits or fruit topped danishes. None of the delightfully rejuvenating black coffee she had grown fond of, no there was none of that. She instead downed a bowl of warm, and flavorless oatmeal and chased it quickly with some water, fearing if not, that the oatmeal would come back up. Aunt Mary-Joe prattled on to her sister, and her mother, about the men of the town, her mother eagerly offering her own insight and information, their prattling only further irritated her, though she remained angrily silent as they giggled and gossiped.

It was a blessing when she was able to flee outside, the sun was just starting to peak over the horizon, she frowned when she felt no warmth from its rays, the energy it provided not reaching her it seemed. It was simply there, rising in the sky as she began her chores for the day, she disappeared into the fields that surrounded her Aunt’s farm. The stalks of wheat looking particularly dull as they hung limp in the pale light, her brother already tending to the crops as she made her way to the barn.

No animals greeted her, though they were all awake, it was quiet as she tossed seed to the chickens and then headed towards the stables to brush her horse. As she arrived she took a moment to appreciate the stunning black mare, rippling with strength and a single patch of white across the bridge of her nose. She whinnied and leaned into the brush as Jayra worked, the only part of her morning that brought a smile to her features. Though, far too quickly, that part of her day was over, she returned to the chickens, picking through the straws of hay and finding only a few fresh eggs, the feathered fiends crooning and strutting around her, keeping a safe distance from her.

* * *

_Churn, churn, churn._

“There was this man who looked at me Jay, looked at me dead in the eye and winked!” Squealed a voice behind her, Jayra’s hands wrapped around a wooden stirrer as she churned fresh butter, her eyes narrowed into slits as her mother rattled off about another man in her life. Her mother was an attractive woman for her age, her beauty timeless, aging like a fine elven wine she had once sampled.

“What a devilish smile he had, and the way the white mixes with his brown hair, he’s a fox I’m telling you, a fox!”

“How interesting.” Apparently that was all that was needed to open the flood gates, Mama Daen squealing about another man who caught her attention, her tales leaving Jayra wishing she’d never spoken.

_Chop, chop, chop._

Even as the night went on there was no release from the pattern, no differences. She cut the pork into misshapen chunks, making a mess over her hands and the cutting board as the raw meat bled. Her Aunt stirred the stew behind her, murloc eyes and okra floating about, all that was missing was the liver. If she never ate pork again in her life she would consider it a blessing.

“Your cut is sloppy, Light damned Jayra, do you not know how to work a knife?” Aunt Mary-Joe pestered as Jayra scrapped the pieces into the stew without a care of how they were cut.

“No.” Was her terse reply, Aunt Mary-Joe fuming silently, not that she was that bothersome. Jayra mechanically went over to the bucket of water, rinsing the bloodied knife and cutting board. The smell of the stew didn’t reach her nose, nor did the chill of the water bother her as the tools were hung to dry, Jayra making her escape before the other could possibly complain more. There was no reprieve though as she laid her head down that night, no light from the moon and the fire in her hearth low, only a few crackling embers to lull her to sleep.

_Churn, churn, churn._

Nothing ever changed it seemed. Mama Daen behind her pushing a wave of black hair behind her ear as she gushed over another man who could truly _‘be the one’._ The sloshing, squishing sounds of the butter mimicked the disgusting feeling deep in Jayra’s stomach as her mother continued on, and on. The biggest problem of it all, it was the same four or five men that she talked about, Jayra having lost count, forgetting their names soon after as well. She looked out the window and glared at nothing in particular, just the unending field of pale golden wheat and yellow grass.

Waking up never seemed to get any easier, if anything she seemed to take longer, and longer to get ready. The light never changed from the same gray tone that it was before, nor did it warm her soul or bring her comfort in the life she was living. She sat on her bed for several minutes while the birds squawked outside. Their chorus rang in her ears serving only to further anger her, as she opened her wardrobe she was once more greeted by her familiar peasant clothing, not that anyone would ever willing steal such rags. The flash of red in the back was again ignored, swiftly removing what she needed before shutting the oaken doors.

_Knock, knock._

Jayra blinked, having just finished tying her shoes, Callind’s voice calling out from behind the door. Asking if she was alright, she didn’t have an answer for him as she joined him in the hallway, once again returning to the chores that awaited her.

* * *

Jayra grabbed her hair smoothing it back over her head and shoulders as the wind listlessly blew down the road. Callind sat behind her on Peggy as the walls of Sentinel Hill rose on the horizon. They had a cart that was creaking right along, jumping up every time it hit a rock or pot hole in the dirt.

“I love Sentinel Hill! Everyone is always so happy and chatty!” Callind bounced behind her, like an excited child. She rolled her eyes, but much to her chagrin a small smile shattered her rather aggressive expression, only for a moment though. Chatter reached both of them as they neared their destination, they passed the gate, the walls looming behind them as they neared the marketplace. Jayra climbed down from Peggy, leaving her with Callind seeing as he had to get sacks of flour and several other larger items, she had a basket with her that would be enough for what she needed. Callind waved as he took Peggy to the other end of the market, Jayra watching him go until he was out of sight.

Someone bumped her and she turned to glare at the retreating form of the woman, she didn’t stop, or offer an apology, just continuing on as if Jayra didn’t exist. Was this her life now? Another face in the crowd, another farm woman waiting for a man like her mother, churning butter and cooking dinner every day, tending to the flock and the fields? A sigh slipped from her mouth as she let her anger go, the bad feelings drifting away with the lazy licks of wind. Only to be replaced by absolute boredom.

Merging with the others Jayra shambled along to the flow of the crowd, people talked around her but their words were indiscernible. She bumped into people as the muted choir of their voices went easily ignored. She found her first merchants, a blonde haired child and older father selling pork fat. She haggled briefly with them, procuring three silver for their trouble and walking away with a container of disgusting fat.

Her second merchant was an elderly, willowy woman, her greying hair haphazardly left free and tangling in wild knots around her weathered face. There was no haggling done at this place, Jayra eyeing the woman the entire time with suspicion due to her witchy appearance. She bought a few small bundles of herbs and was just walking away when a voice in the muted crowd reached her ears.

“... I heard they took back the Monastery. The Scarlet Monastery!” Jayra froze in her steps, listening a little more closely. “I imagine it wasn’t that hard, the Alliance cleared that area out when they pushed out the Horde.” Jayra turned and wandered closer to the voice, finding a portly and red faced merchant talking with a mousy haired and scraggly looking woman.

“Who would want to go up there? The Forsaken must’ve turned everything up there to sludge. I heard they blight everything, and eat what’s left for fun!” Jayra’s hands clenched and various images of harming the buck-toothed woman passing through her thoughts.

“They wanted it I guess, I hear they have a little bit of a followin’ too. They’re bringing people back up there.” He continued, not responding to her stupid comment. “The Crimson Revelation.” He nodded his head, scratching his trimmed, patchy beard with a ringed finger.

“That’s dumb.” She responded with a roll of her eyes the rest of the conversation was quickly forgotten as Jayra mulled over his words. The Scarlet Monastery reclaimed? She blinked and was lost in a whirlwind of sensations, could it possibly be? Gossip had to be taken with a grain of salt but he seemed rather certain of himself. An overwhelming myriad of emotions washing over her.

Callind found her soon after, waiting for her on the road, it wasn’t until he showed that she remembered she hadn’t finished her tasks. She mindlessly trudged towards the last merchant, not even bothering to haggle with the man’s outrageous price as she got what she wanted, this time throwing her leg up and over Peggy, sitting behind Callind as he led the two home. They would return just in time for Jayra to join her mother in churning the damned butter.

It wasn’t until she was nestled in her sheets, the crickets chirping outside that she was overwhelmed with the memories. The halls of the Monastery echoing with her footsteps. Whitemane preaching from her dais to the masses. The warmth of the Light searing every recruit to the very core as they hung on every word, listening intently, the only salvation they found in that land was in the church. She blinked in the darkness, turning onto her side as another wave of memories reared their heads.

Cathele, a woman she’d not thought of in almost half a decade. The garden she would hide in when she was younger, and pray in when she had grown older. The sun never seemed to shine there but it wasn’t necessary, the Light was their sun, and it warmed them with every lit brazier through all the decadent red halls. The tapestries, the flame, the church!

She flipped over onto her other side and squeezed her eyes shut, willing all the thoughts to die down but silence came at a price she could not buy. She threw the sheets off of her body and padded towards her wardrobe, the fire in her hearth dull warming nothing but the embers that burned pathetically. Throwing the door open the dying light from the fire washing over the flash of red nestled in the back of her wardrobe, she pushed blouses and skirts aside, reaching out, hesitant and unsure as if touching the red would burn her.

Her fingers danced across the silky fabric of her tabard, the Scarlet Flame seeming to glitter and wink at her. She stared at it for several moments before wrenching her hand away, slamming the doors to her wardrobe shut, pulling the sheets over her head as she descended into her bed once again. There was no peace as her thoughts descended into chaos, her mind plagued by the memories. Assaulted with the moments of a life she strived to forget, and though having fled those lands and forsook the Crusade, in this moment, she wanted nothing more than to return home.

* * *

_Knock, knock._

Jayra flung open the door, her clothes perfect as she glared at the hand that dare disturb her surly morning sanctuary.

“Good morning!” Callind said with that same bright and cheery tone that he used on everyone. If sunshine and rainbows could manifest, it would be from Callind and his overly joyful personality, Jayra was having none of it today. She glared at him, her sapphire eyes were thin slits as he got the hint rather quickly. Scampering off he fled to the kitchen where Jayra followed on his heel.

Callind went to whisper into their mother’s ear, quiet and absolutely obvious in what he was telling her. Jayra’s irritation was amplified when two sets of eyes looked at her, ‘ _traitor’_ she thought with malice towards her brother. Mama Daen was the first to recover and smiled warmly at Jayra, they took their seats and ate the same, mushy, barely warmed oatmeal. Briefly she wondered if she force fed it all to Callind if he might perish.

“How did you sleep?” Jayra was pulled out of her vengeful musings as Mama Daen spoke, smiling at her daughter with love, it made her even angrier.

“Fine.”

“You just seem a little tired darling that’s all.” Jayra didn’t respond, her eyes darted to Callind, shooting him the nastiest glare she could manage this early in the morning. Mama Daen sighed but didn’t press any further, smart choice.

_Churn, churn, churn._

Jayra was a bit more ferocious with the butter today, whipping it around as she glared out the window. The churning stick slamming against the sides as Mama Daen continued about Mr. Howard, the latest lover in the long list of poor unfortunate potential mates. Jayra couldn’t care less, her mind plagued by thoughts of the Crusade, the Monastery calling her name. The smell of incense under her nose, though there was none lit. She could still feel the ocean breeze in her little garden, and her mother was ruining the memories with her ceaseless prattling.

“He is so tall Jayra, so, so tall. His eyes are like the green of the woods and his heart is so pure, he is so kind. He wants to meet everyone her-.”

“I absolutely do not care about Mr. Howard or his intentions.” Jayra interjected sharply, cutting her mother off. “In fact I do not care about a single one of your long line of lovers. You will never remarry or pick one to settle down with. You play a game that no one ever wins. You will live alone here with Aunt Mary-Joe and Callind until you die.” Jayra accentuated each word sharply with a particularly vicious thrust from the churning stick.

She turned around to see Mama Daen staring at her with her mouth hanging open and a sheen in her eye. Mama Daen turned her head sharply and wiped at her eyes.

“And what of you? Are you not going to stay with your mother?” Jayra stared at her, walking away soon after, not having an answer for her.

_Chop, chop, chop._

“Why can’t you just settle down with a nice man Jayra? You’re wasting your youth.” Jayra glared at the meat as she cut the liver into all kinds of weird shapes, her mind elsewhere as her aunt spoke behind her. “You could find a good man, marry, have a few children and settle down near the farms. Your children could help tend to the farm.” She continued, piercing Jayra’s thoughts and irritating her.

_Chop_

“Imagine it, a whole farm for you and your family.” Jayra’s jaw tightened with anger.

_Chop_

Her aunt walked over and talked a bit louder to combat the growing volume of cuts made by Jayra. “We could get you a nice wedding dress and have it down by the beach.” Jayra further tensed, her hand wrapped tightly around the handle of the knife in a white-knuckle grip.

_Chop_

“There’s that nice boy down the way, what’s his name? Jonathan I think.” She was starting to see red.

_CHOP_

“Oh Jayra he’s not going to want to marry you with you mangling the meat and cutting it all kind of ass-ways.”

_SLAM!_

Jayra drove the knife through the cutting board and straight into the counter beneath, cleaving the board in two. The edge glittered with holy magic, the only way she could have cut through the wood without help. Her aunt had leapt back and was staring at her with fear. Jayra smiled at her and wiped her bloody hands on the rag, rushing out of the room, almost fleeing as her aunt remained silent.

Jayra shut the door behind her, leaning against it with her head tilted back, eyes sealed shut as she tried to relieve herself from the stresses of living here. She didn’t belong here, this wasn’t a life for her. This wasn’t for her! The words echoed in her mind as she strode to her wardrobe and threw the doors open, pushing boring white blouse after boring white blouse aside. Throwing the plain blue skirts onto the dirty floor. In the back of it all was her uniform. The Scarlet Flame emblazoned on the chest of the tabard, her pauldrons hanging just above it and in the right corner a giant staff she had made. The boots were stuffed so they remained upright, the heels perfectly placed in the other corner.

She stared at the flame and reached out to touch the symbol, everything still so alluring to her.

“Are you going to go?” Jayra didn’t jump, though she was unaware someone had joined her. Callind stood in the doorway of her room, his eyes twinkling with concern over his older sibling.

“I don’t belong here.” Jayra answered simply, and it was true, she didn’t see this life for her, she didn’t want to wake up and wear her farm clothes. She didn’t want to churn butter or eat Westfall Stew, she didn’t want any of it!

“I know, are you going to go?” He asked again shutting the door behind him, this time Jayra didn’t answer him. “Jay?”

“I don’t know Callind! Is there anything left up there for me? Is there a home, is there a chance that Cathele survived, or maybe Inquisitor Joanne. Perhaps The High Inquisitor herself?” She turned on her brother. “Do I even want them to have survived? The corruption that took root there, is it different? Will I return and be thrown to the stake? I do not know! All I do know is my duty is not here, my training did not involve farming, my heart is not here!”

Jayra was panting by the time she had finished, she felt the tears brewing in her eyes, turning to look at her Inquisitor garb once again.

“Are you going to be like Dad?”

“Never!” Jayra responded without a thought, hissing at the mere mention of such a weak and pathetic man. The thought of him alone was enough to boil her blood and send dark, vengeful thoughts racing through her mind. Callind stared at her silently for a few moments, nodding his head and he reached out, wrapping her up in his arms, calming her. He’d gotten stronger since they were children.

“Go.” He whispered into her hair, his hands rubbing up and down her back soothingly. “Go do what you were meant to do.” He said, pulling back enough to smile at her, Jayra could only stare at him, her eyes wide with disbelief. They collectively agreed to never speak of their time in Lordaeron, her brother, her mother, her aunt. When Jayra had shown up one day they didn’t say a word, only took her in, made her change and that was that. She thought this was what she needed, an escape, it was anything but.

“Thank you.” Jayra whispered back to him, wrapping her arms around the middle of his back and embracing him tightly. The siblings were quiet for a while, standing there, pulling back, she saw Callind staring at the flame on her uniform. His eyes filled with an emotion she couldn’t decipher. He retreated quickly after that, wishing her a good night, knowing she’d rather eat her own foot than another bowl of Westfall Stew.

Jayra shut her wardrobe doors and stripped down to her nightclothes, leaving all the blouses and skirts to paint her floor in a spectacular array of plainness. Settling under the covers, she pulled them up to her chin, cuddling up with her pillow. It wasn’t long before the Inquisitor had fallen asleep. Her hearth not dull and lifeless, instead a blazing flame to keep her warm throughout the night.

* * *

The sun’s golden rays warmed her back as she rode towards Elwynn Forest. The birds were melodious in their song, flying around her in beautiful formations. Even the flowers painted the fields around in her in a brilliant kaleidoscope of colors. Peggy neighed pleasantly, Jayra leaning down to pat the black mare’s mane. She sat back up, tall and proud, the Scarlet Flame emblazoned across her chest. A weight seemed to be lifted off her shoulders and she smiled, a true smile as Peggy trotted down the road.

She was going home.


End file.
